Ten Years: Ten Moments of Snape
by Lithium Choker
Summary: HG/SS. A short fic-let celebrating 10 years of fanfiction. Complete.


**Ten Years: Ten Moments of Snape**

It's been ten years since I signed up to fanfiction so I thought I'd put together a mini commemorative story. Each section is a random moment, each a snapshot from Hermione's fourth year in Hogwarts onwards, chronicling their growing connection in brief vignettes.

* * *

**The First Moment: Fourth Year at Hogwarts**

"Shut _up,_ Ron! If you say another word about how much you want to shag Krum I'll go over there and make him agreeable to you myself!"

Hermione was seething and half serious. If it meant the end of Ron's incessant mooning she'd be all for it! Well, apart from the imperio being an unforgivable... And _apart_ from the fact that she had actually had a conscience. She sighed and slumped back into her chair, relaxing her quill hand and rolling her neck against the back of the stiff wooden library chair. Then she shot a glare at Ron, who jumped because he hadn't deliberately tried to annoy her for all of four fifths of a second.

"What do _you_ want to talk about then?" he said, stroppily prodding at the corner of a text book and avoiding her gaze.

"Well, I didn't come to the library for my interest in gabbing. I came here to look up legal precedents for elf rights." Ron rolled his eyes at her and gave her an infuriatingly knowing look.

"C'mon, Hermione. What's this really about?"

A small muscle in her neck spasmed.

There was a split second of deadly calm before first years poured from the library followed by the deafening sound of her shrill tirade. It was good fortune that Madam Pince happened to tolerate Hermione more than most of the other students. She let her remain in the library after a good scolding but unfortunately allowed Ron to remain too.

"So...?" he asked with a long rolling vowel.

She sighed and closed her book. There was no point. Resistance was futile.

"We could help Harry solve his clue for the tournament?"

"All right then!" Ron stretched his arms with a toothy smile, chipper once more. "You know... I bet it _was_ Snape who put his name in the cup."

"How original," murmured Hermione dryly, reaching for a bit of parchment. "You haven't accused him of something truly horrible for all of a few days now. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten."

"But he _is_ horrible, isn't he?" It had been a long day. She hadn't found anything that could help SPEW and he had almost gotten her kicked out of the library. What she said next was mainly to spite him.

"He's short-tempered but dangerously intelligent." He looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "What's more he just doesn't give a flying frog what anyone thinks. You're just intimidated by someone leagues smarter than you that doesn't help forge your homework... or have breasts. If you got over yourself and your insecurities I think you'd see that he's amazing." Ron's jaw dropped. From his corner at the other end of the library, Krum glanced up.

"B-but...?" he spluttered.

"Did you think I would always be a Lockhart-fawning pubescent?" She laughed. "Tall, dark and mysterious, that's my kind." It was with a somewhat mischievous smirk that she watched Ron run off, looking green, and opened her book to the page she had previously been on with renewed energy. She knew that Ron would eventually guess at her sarcasm. But she didn't think it right just to accuse Snape just for his demeanour. Simply 'not being popular' did not make you a likely source of evil. Just look at Malfoy's dad, popular as a pixie and evil as a grindylow. Or evil as a pixie, come to think of it.

"I think you may have pushed Weasley too far," said a low silky voice of Snape himself. He had been within hearing range! If her eyes had ever stood a chance of popping out of her skull... "What are you working on so close to the holidays?" the question had a threatening undertone.

"Personal work, sir," she answered quickly, turning in her seat to face the wall of black robes that hung loosely on a slender frame. He eyed her consideringly. She didn't blink. Neither did he. She was terrified he'd punish her for... well, anything. His reasons were always thin. Perhaps using him as a means to taunt Ron. She still couldn't blink. A detention? The longer he held her gaze, the more wild she imagined the punishments to be.

Years later she would wonder if he had been using legilimency because with the smallest of smiles he simply said, "Carry on," and swept away, passing a flustered looking Krum who fumbled with his book, apparently unable to find the page he wanted.

* * *

**The Second Moment: Fifth Year at Hogwarts**

"I call this meeting of the prefects to order!" Malfoy cried, tapping his wand against the table for silence. All the prefects stopped and stared quizzically his way. They'd never had a meeting begun this way.

"Don't be a ponce!" shouted Ron, ending the quiet.

Hermione allowed herself a snicker at Malfoy's discomfort as he blustered and searched for a comeback to Ron's remark. Before he could, however, the heads of houses swept in through the doors and lined up neatly before them, McGonagall silently shooing Malfoy out of the way and back to the others across the room. He gave her a glare but scarpered.

Once he had sat down, both Malfoy and Ron instantly began a silent sneering match, ignoring all the highly crucial information that Hermione strained her ears to catch. After the essential instructions and patrol schedule, each teacher mentioned the names of a few younger students to be 'watched over'.

Snape didn't meet any of their eyes but spoke to the wall above their heads as he said, "And if you spot Hewitt lurking in the halls between classes you may send him directly to me."

"Poor kid. What's he done?" mumbled Ron out of the corner of his mouth. Snape's vague black gaze focused sharply and cut into Ron.

"Hewitt is not in the best of health." The words were measured carefully with just a hint of a smile as Ron flushed with guilt. Hermione tried to catch her Professor's eyes but he seemed set on ignoring her presence. She raised her hand, though much good might it do her.

"Yes, Miss Granger," McGonagall said.

"About our OWLs-"

Snape cut across her words with a quelling look at McGonagall, who had opened her mouth to respond.

"This is the least appropriate occasion, location and mode of supplication to discuss your personal endeavours, Miss Granger. These meetings are for the benefit of the stability of the school. Unless, of course, you fancy yourself the keystone upon which we all hang... which befits well the egotistical nature of a Gryffindor."

To the prefects, looking between McGonagall and Snape, it appeared as though there was about to be a small scuffle between the heads of two houses, whose own personal sneering match made Draco and Ron's bickering look like that of irritable siblings. But they were sorely disappointed when Flitwick squeaked, "Right, clear off!" in his cheerful manner, waving them out with his wand. McGonagall gave Snape a long steady look over the student heads before walking off in a huff. Flitwick chased after her and Sprout wandered her own way, leaving Snape standing perfectly, menacingly still and Hermione struggling to put the notes she had been taking back into her bag. She would not have been left behind if she weren't the only one among them to take notes.

Normally desperate for his attention, when left alone in the room with him it hit her with full force, an unbearable intensity as he watched her and her alone, no sound but her own breathing in the room. Where was his? Sometimes she wondered if he even required oxygen, for his chest never seemed to move.

Last of her things in her bag, she kept her head down as she swung it onto her shoulder to avoid the unblinking stare from by the door. Why was he lingering? But as she tried to brush past him her heart stopped when an arm slammed down before her, cutting off her escape. She looked up at him, fear beginning to ring in her chest.

He deftly slipped his hand into his robe pockets and withdrew it in a flash, a small strip of parchment between his long fingers. He held it out for her to take. She did, hesitating only a fraction of a second, and frowned at its contents. Three digits. They meant nothing to her.

"Your marks for the potions OWL," he said before she could ask. Her elation, soaring, brilliant, a sudden warmth in her core, was punctured by confusion and as the smile slipped from her face, she frowned up at him. He appeared displeased. "They are not false," he added, frowning at her. "The advantage of being in Slytherin is connections, which allowed me to procure this," he flicked a finger at the back of the scrap, making her jump.

"Thank you." Her voice was breathless. It was an amazing gift. "But.." She felt it would be wrong to ask the burning question.

"Perhaps it might help you in making a decision on your subjects for next year?" he cocked a brow. She said nothing and stared down at the small scrap of parchment cradled in both hands with those precious scratched digits.

"I'd never have dreamed of dropping potions." If he had planned on saying more, this shut him up. Looking up at him, his straight black hair that guarded his sharp, piercing, damn-near terrifying stare, she waited a minute to be sure there was nothing else to be said. And then, slowly, she walked out, cupped hands before her, twisting her neck so to keep his gaze. Hermione was starting to think of him as a hippogriff: intimidating but all right if you maintained eye contact and didn't get on his bad side.

* * *

**The Third Moment: Sixth Year at Hogwarts**

Professor Snape was an enigma. Hermione watched his moves surreptitiously as he paced the aisles between their desks, making mental notes, examining him, calculating motives and weighing up likelihoods. But there were clear doubts in her mind that he was evil. Rotten and damaged in too many ways to repair, yes, but not the enemy.

It seemed she had spent half her life at Hogwarts watching him and trying to understand him.

His measured paces were interrupted with the slap of a book landing on the floor. Mortified, Hermione realised it was Ron's. She had knocked it over with her sliding elbow while she stared. For a moment, a terrifyingly long moment, Snape didn't move, didn't twitch so that when he finally did turn around it gave the illusion that his frame creaked from stiffness. His eyes fixed on the book, splayed but unharmed, then up at Ron with the beginning's of a vengeful smile.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for interrupting my class, Weasley," he said silkily. "Pick up that pitiful book."

Ron flapped his jaw. Harry looked decidedly angry but had learnt by now it was better to fume in silence. Ron hadn't. Harry slapped a hand to his forehead when Ron spluttered angrily in response.

"Fifteen points for a book! It wasn't even my fault."

Snape's eyes shot her a fleeting glance, too fleeting to be meaningful.

"It'll be another fifteen if you don't learn some respect," he whispered, leaning forward, an arm holding his robes back from so much as touching Ron's desk.

Desperately awkward moments passed as they glared. Hermione fidgeted and tried not to blush. Ron had been tactful enough not to expose her. She didn't want to waste one of his few thoughtful gestures by revealing herself.

As suddenly as he had turned cold, Snape returned to lecturing mode, turning briskly towards the front of the class. It took twenty minutes of head-bowed note scribbling for her heart rate to return to normal.

As the class drew close to an end, any thoughts of Snape-watching forgotten, she tried to pass a small note to Ron with a 'thank you'. But her refusal to lift her head cost her dearly. Her hand knocked her own book from the table. She winced at the sickening rip signifying the spine splitting clean in two.

Snape, however, did not so much as hesitate in his speech and continued his between-desk parade until he reached the book, quickly repairing it and floating it to her desk before continuing.

Ron looked at the little paper note with a bitter expression and scrawled something viciously across the back of it and shoved it into her fist.

'He fancies you.'

Trust Ron to sulk.

* * *

**The Fourth Moment: The detour from the canon **

Hermione held her heart in her throat as she raced after Harry up to the Headmaster's office. Snape had barricaded the entrance ... but he ought to have retreated with the other Death Eaters.

Harry found it locked, tried alohamora and when that failed resorted to slamming his body against the frame. Ron pulled his panting frame to one side, allowing Hermione to push back her hair and attempt every spell in the book.

"It's not working," Harry hissed, rubbing his shoulder and glowering. "The coward is hiding from us."

"Shh!"

They leaned in. Sounds of scratching and moving furniture came through and then, mystery of mysteries, the lock clicked open. Looking at each of them with bitter resolve, Harry placed his hand on the handle and pulled. Hermione held her wand at the ready.

Behind the door stood their old potions master, wand presented on flat palms and steady gaze fixed on Harry's, flickering over her for only a second.

"Here," he tossed the wand forward. Ron leapt up and caught it. "I surrender myself willingly. But it is a matter of some urgency that you, Potter, view the contents of the penseive. It is Dumbledore's final wish."

But Harry, with a look of disgust had already turned to leave.

"Bind him," he told Ron as he passed. "He's not worth our time." Ron did as he was told but Snape hadn't finished.

"Don't be a fool, Potter! Do you not realise that my remaining in the castle is a death sentence in the eyes of the dark lord? I have ignored a direct summons in order to deliver Dumbledore's final shred of information. Every second we waste on your pride means more lives lost."

This stopped him in his tracks. Hermione knew his guilt was already killing him but was wary of trusting a word out of Snape's lips. Yet, after a long, considering pause, he turned to her.

"You can handle the situation?"

She nodded.

"Right then."

As Harry stepped over to the penseive, Snape's eyes suddenly fixed on hers, intense, inexplicable meaning hidden behind them. Her breath caught in her chest. It wouldn't be long before she understood. Before they all understood.

* * *

**The Fifth Moment: After Voldemort**

Hermione ran her fingers over the scratchy lettering, eyes running over the words that warmed her, lifted her spirits. A small smile caught her lips as she finished rereading the letter.

_Miss Granger,_

_Naturally, I would be more than willing to provide you with a letter of recommendation for the post of Arithmancy Professor, though it needs stating that it is hardly necessary as Minerva cannot wait to be reunited with her golden child. I shall, however, floo at the aforementioned time. I prefer my tea black._

_Severus Snape_

Lanky, awkward arms encircled her waist and she stiffened instinctively as Ron pressed his chin into her neck. There followed a long pause while he read the brief note. The puff of air from his snort tickled and she shuddered, feeling the same steady low impatience she had been feeling for months now.

"What're you asking that bat for? Didn't we have plenty of nice teachers you could ask?"

She twisted out of his grip and scowled at him, holding the letter to her chest.

"Of them all, Snape was the most intelligent and the longest to hold a position at the school after McGonagall and Trelawney. Not to mention the fact that he's a hero."

Ron's face grew dark red but he just shrugged and picked up a copy of the daily prophet and fell into her chair. She hoped dearly he would make himself scarce by the time Snape showed in the fireplace.

But as the clock ticked on the only sign of movement was the rustle of turning leaves and the tapping of her own foot. Before she knew it Severus Snape was straightening himself as he stepped from their fireplace, not a hair out of place or the smallest sign of ash on his robes. Ron looked up over the paper, pulled a face that half suggested a smile of greeting, half a grimace of disgust. Snape nodded in return as Ron stood, let the paper fall to the floor and strode off muttering "I'll leave you with your old boyfriend then, shall I?"

Hermione said nothing in response but was silently mortified.

Once the door closed, not quite slammed, Hermione offered him a seat and prepared the tea. He was gracious enough not to comment on what he had heard and the silence between them was not the least bit awkward as she placed the cutlery on a tray, steeped the tea leaves and offered him a biscuit, which he declined with a raised hand. Her silences these days were born from bitterness and mutual anger between her and Ron. It was why they either chatted with desperate animation or avoided each other altogether.

But this? Like the satisfaction felt with a deep sigh, brought her calmly back to herself and her senses.

They remained in silence while they each finished their drink. Such a comfortable silence. It almost seemed a shame to break it.

* * *

**The Sixth Moment: First Year of Teaching**

A small nod. A jerk that caused his hair to ripple slightly.

"Granger," Snape said with new respect and the barest hint of warmth. "It is a pleasure to have you on the staff." Coming from him it couldn't fail to sound sarcastic but Hermione smiled because the years had taught her otherwise.

Hagrid hiccuped into his butterbeer, a tear rolling down the round cheek to the scraggly beard beneath, and patted her roughly on the back. It winded her but she smiled at him too and put her hand over his enormous one.

Minerva smiled down the table at her proudly. Anyone would have thought they were the oldest of friends at this point, the way she had taken Hermione under her wing. But Minerva had made it very clear to all that that would have not the slightest influence in Hermione's screening process.

"Hermione," Firenze said, entering the great hall to an orchestra of hushed whispers, his hooves kicking up a great deal of noise and distraction. It was an honour indeed. The centaur never left his room except for surreptitious trips to the forest. She politely left the teacher's table to greet him, followed quickly by Minerva, who had been insistent on guiding Hermione around Hogwarts in her first few hours, as though she didn't know every crook and cranny so well she could walk it in her sleep.

"Firenze. You look well."

"It is good you have returned. The planets suggest felicity lies ahead."

"I'm sure everyone's already happy enough since the war ended." He cocked his head and scraped a rear hoof across the stone but said no more, giving her a bow and turning to leave.

"That was...expected," she said to no one in particular. Minerva steered her back towards the table.

"Of course it was," she said brusquely. "Now you _must _sit beside me. This is only your first day."

Severus' eyes and hers connected. She mimed exasperation and he gave her a tight half smile of amusement. Minerva seemed to catch the latter half of their exchange.

"Severus wrote you a glowing recommendation, in case you weren't aware. Ridiculously so! I had to visit the dungeons to be certain it wasn't a forgery. Now that you've got the position fairly, I don't see the harm in letting you have a read of it. Just don't tell anyone." Hermione nodded, a strange fluttering nervousness striking her in the chest. "And don't let him know you've read it."

For years after that day when she was handed a foot of parchment in Minerva's office, she would glance at the recommendation whenever she felt particularly frazzled, fondly stroking the grain of the parchment. The mixture of impossibility and praise always left her cheered and ready to return to teaching knowing that the world's fussiest professor had faith in her abilities.

* * *

**The Seventh Moment: Second Year of Teaching**

She was speaking fast, too fast for any ordinary human to follow, yet she wasn't speaking to an ordinary human. Her ideas were bubbling, frothing, stretching her mind at the seams and she was desperate to get every last thought, every last idea out so that the fullness of her words would be received.

As she spoke she gesticulated. She paced. And as she turned and paced again, she found her movements were mimicked, closely followed by Professor Snape.

He kept close to her, hands behind his back. She thought nothing of it until she turned and abruptly gasped, finding him a hair's breadth from her. Upon his face was an earnest interest in her words but, maybe she was mistaken, also a hopefulness, as if he expected something. She had no idea what that might be.

He instantly withdrew. The moment lingered.

She forgot what she was saying...

* * *

**The Eighth Moment: Third Year of Teaching**

It was Hermione's night on duty in the halls. She wasn't as fond of walking through the night as _some _professors. She had a fondness for sleep that sometimes overwhelmed her even when she was caught in a good book.

But catching the odd student was a good way to keep her on her toes and tonight she had found a pair of seventh years who had snuck out to spend some time together in the transfiguration classroom.

She tried to sound convincing when she told them off, yet it seemed so hypocritical based on how many rules she had broken herself over the years.

"You, Mitchells, you are a prefect!"

"YES!" All their heads snapped to the doorway where a lopsided, dishevelled-looking Snape stood with a bottle of firewhisky in his raised hand. "How _DARE_ they!" Hermione rushed to him, leaving the two students out of hearing range, and placed a hand on his arm to whisper in his ear angrily.

"You are inebriated."

He smirked and cocked his head, bringing the firewhiskey to his lips for a brief sip.

"I think the word you're looking for is... hmm, all right, inebriated... But in a good way." Hermione coaxed the bottle away from his hands and placed it on a desk. He showed no resistance beyond a look of befuddlement. She turned to the students. "You two will have ten points deducted each. Get back to your respective beds. Quickly, now!" She tried to usher them out before he made a complete arse of himself. Snape drunk was an experience she had only witnessed for the first time last Christmas and the strange thing was he lost all sense of shame once he had had that one too many.

"Why do you need to be so uptight?" he said, prodding her pointedly. If she wasn't so angry it would have had Hermione in hysterics to hear Snape say such a thing. She placed her hands on her hips and glared. He took no notice, focused on straightening out the kinks in his hair and adjusting his robes. "At least you had the good sense to kick out the Weasely. Now I'm free to do this." He leaned forward and gave her a peck on the lips. It was an innocent mistle-toe style kiss and that Hermione couldn't help laughing off with a blush. She couldn't remember a funnier moment with Snape since the boggart experience.

He grinned at her response and caught her waist to spin her in a dance. She relaxed and let him lead, curious to see more of fun Snape. He was even humming an upbeat tune as he danced her across the room, smoothly considering his height, and she laughed with delight when he leaned her back over his knee.

"You are not in control of your senses!" she giggled. But as soon as she said it he suddenly seemed poised, graceful as he whipped her around and backed her

up against the arched window. The stunned silence was broken by their breathing and the pitter-patter of rain against the glass behind her back.

"Perhaps I am in control of them," he said softly, almost seductively, leaning closer and daringly closer. As he drew right up to her she realised he was after more than a peck. Her heart pounded harder and harder. She couldn't think. He had blocked her way out with his arms but in her panic she began to fight back and he offered no resistance as she wriggled free and bolted from the room. She paused at the door to check if he was following but he simply stood silhouetted by the window, looking at her bitterly.

* * *

**The Ninth Moment: Fourth Year of Teaching**

"It is an insult to Dumbledore's legacy! The _eleven_ uses of dragon's blood?" Snape was frothing at the mouth with rage at her discovery. But discovery it was. One of the uses of dragon's blood was faulty, defunct. But to tread on the toes of Dumbledore's memory had implications. Implications like having to sleep with one eye open to keep an eye out for murderous ex-professors.

"He'd have preferred truth and knowledge over any stupid legacy!" she retorted. He stopped pacing and wheeled on her, eyes widening ever so slightly.

"Stupid?" The word hung in the stale dungeon air.

"Look... I, I didn't mean-"

He took a step forward, his rage filling the room and leaving her with very little room to breathe. She felt her nerve slipping from her.

"Your mistakes and incompetence are no basis for usurping the throne of a great wizard."

She bristled, feeling rage and injustice right to the tips of her thick hair.

"I survived the war, I got straight As in my NEWTs. I _resent_ that you think me incompetent!" For all the overwhelming emotion she felt he simply waved a hand dismissively.

"I have two wars to my name and neither is the source of my insight." Hermione took a step back, glaring and shaking her head.

"You think so much of yourself." He snorted and turned away. Of course, walking away. She shouted out after him, a note of desperation under her rage: "If you think so little of me then _test me_." He gave a short sharp laugh. "**TEST ME!**"she bellowed, whipping out her wand.

Before she knew it he had whipped around, any humour gone from his eyes and lunged for her. His hand was around her fist and it pried the wand from her grip in an attack so peculiar she was totally unprepared for it, ready instead for a duel. He brought the wand up between her eyes, leaned in to her face and with the wand being the only thing separating their noses whispered, "Drawing your wand on a wizard's back, Granger, is something you might want to avoid in future."

She waited for him to pull back and leave, ready with a barrage of insults to spit at his back but with every second he lingered, eyes almost touching hers, the anger began to fall away. It was a forever moment that ended with a blush as she realised he was waiting for her to take back her wand.

Lowering her head, she gently took it back and nodded. Glancing up once more she was surprised to catch a smirk on his face.

"It's almost Slytherin."

* * *

**The Tenth Moment: Fifth Year of Teaching**

Hermione revelled in the comfortable almost-friendship that now existed between her and Severus Snape. Awkward moments and pre-war history aside, they had spent enough time comfortably together that they now were actually comfortable with each other and when either had a free moment, they would seek out the other.

Today he had found her in the restricted section, nose in a book. Clearly he hadn't been looking long. He pulled out a chair and sat beside her. No words, just a flick of his wand to draw a book from the shelf and he mirrored her pose of engrossment.

She turned a page.

"Would you like to accompany me for a drink in Hogsmeade?"

She let the page fall into place and glanced sideways at him, a small intake of breath her only sign of joy. Snape kept his face down and gaze averted but from his sharp profile she caught the subtle hints of uncertainty and was that a slight pinkness in his cheek?

"Any reason?" she asked, wanting to be sure of his meaning.

"I fancy a drink and I'd like to believe you don't find me objectionable."

"Indeed I don't."

"Very well then," he said with a brisk nod. She couldn't help grinning to herself as she sat beside him, her face incredibly hot.

* * *

**The Eleventh Moment: An Epilogue **

With huff, Hermione began to clear away the potion bottles that had once again begun to encroach on her half of the workspace and all over her parchments.

"Severus, this is ridiculous," she frowned, holding a bottle up to him and pointing to her papers. He leaned back behind the prophet and shrugged.

"It's not as if you live here with me."

She placed everything on the table and shuffled over to sit on his armrest, feeling the same tingle of excitement when his arm slipped under her bathrobe to brush against her bare back.

"I don't know if you've noticed but I haven't exactly slept anywhere else these past months." He shrugged again, feigning disinterest. "Are you saying you would rather me leave to let you sleep in peace?"

With a snort he pulled her onto his knee and gripped her tight around the middle.

"How dare you! I'd sooner hex you six ways from Sunday than let you leave."

"Hmm," she smiled, "That's a comforting thought."

He growled threateningly as she gave him a short kiss on the cheek.


End file.
